


Can't Stay, Can't Hide

by geckoholic



Category: Killjoys (TV)
Genre: Families of Choice, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Post-Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-10
Updated: 2016-09-10
Packaged: 2018-08-14 06:41:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8002312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geckoholic/pseuds/geckoholic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>“What's wrong?” Dutch demands. “Lucy. What happened? Where's Johnny?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Another moment passes, the space in which a human would sigh. Then: “Johnny has left.” </em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can't Stay, Can't Hide

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bitterandsweet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bitterandsweet/gifts).



> I apologize if this isn't quite what you were looking for, but after the season finale I couldn't quite work up any happy funtimes for this fandom. Also D'avin managed to sneak his way in alongside Dutch, and I hope you don't mind; it's still very much intended to be about how much Johnny means to her.
> 
> Beta-read by shenshen77. Thank you!! ♥ All remaining mistakes are mine.
> 
> Title is from "Young And Free" by Sucre.

Dutch stumbles back onto Lucy half-hanging off D'avin's shoulder, a little more drunk and a little less gracefully than she usually prefers. But it's been a hard couple of days, and she just declared war against her evil doppelganger within hours of losing a friend and... well, an antagonistic yet caring father figure, and she has decided that if there ever was a time to get shit-faced and throw self-discipline and pride and grace out the window, it was tonight. Pree did his part, made sure their cups were never empty, and yes, well, screw it, here they are. 

D'avin doesn't possess the ability to walk in a straight line anymore either, even though he's taken it upon himself to guide her steps, and they bump into a wall mere seconds after they enter the cargo bay. 

She disentangles herself from her gallant companion and marches towards the kitchen with more confidence and force than her sense of gravity should allow right now, but Dutch has always been great at pretending. 

“Johnny,” she shouts, her fingers trailing over the bottles on the counter, looking for something he'd like. He bailed from the bar, and that is not on; she's going to make sure he'll catch up. He did declare himself her drinking buddy, after all. “ _Johnny_!”

No answer comes, but after a few seconds, Lucy peeps to life. Dutch's stomach drops; she's not half as adept at reading her as Johnny is, but she swears it's somehow possible for that one sound to seem _sad_. 

“What's wrong?” she demands. “Lucy. What happened? Where's Johnny?” 

Another moment passes, the space in which a human would sigh. Then: “Johnny has left.” 

 

***

 

D'avin looks at the travel confirmations like they're about to crawl out of the screen and pinch him in the neck. He blinks, every so often, the only indication that there's still enough alcohol circling through his system to have made a bonafide soldier boy stumble and slur his words just fifteen minutes ago. By now, he's sobered up in helpless shock, same as Dutch. 

“Why didn't he _say_ something,” he murmurs, and it's not a question, because the only person truly able to answer it isn't around. Or no, that's wrong; they both know Johnny well enough for a solid educated guess, but it's still not the same, to know or be told. Johnny protects the people who matter to him the most, and if he thinks running away from them is the best way to achieve that, then run he will. The only part of the equation that doesn't quite make sense yet is exactly _what_ he wanted to protect them from. Seeing him grieve? Seeking revenge? But against whom? Surely he wouldn't be – 

The newsfeed from Oldtown is open in a tab on the screen, and just then, Delle Seyah's face crosses the projection. But it's not the speech that has been airing all over old town for the past day now; it's a still image, an official photograph that shows her wearing a somber, reverential, serious expression. 

“Oh shit,” Dutch says, not quite believing the conclusion her mind's already drawn. “Lucy, unmute.” 

But sure enough, a voice Dutch doesn't recognize announces the death of Delle Seyah, shot in an alley in Oldtown, and the dots are easy enough to connect that D'avin glances up too, his face blank and pale, and slowly shakes his head in stunned disbelief. 

 

*** 

 

The ship is quieter without Johnny. Or maybe that's because the circumstances of his departure are so grim; somewhere out there Delle Seyah's body is receiving the intricate last rites of the Nine right now, because _he killed her_. It'd be so easy to blame the elite, blame Seyah and Pawter, for dragging him into their games and twisting him around – there were no lies between them before that happened and he sure as hell wouldn't have gunned down anyone in an alleyway – but Dutch knows nothing is ever that simple. Johnny's a killjoy, it was Dutch who made him that way, and he lost his innocence long before that. He just hides it better than most other people in their line of work.

She sits in Lucy's cockpit and thinks about the day they met, both of them raw and new and with no clue that they'd just found something they hadn't even been consciously looking for in the first place. Ever since then, he had been _there_ , always around and part of her world, and now he's _gone_ and she doesn't know what to do with herself. They have been looking for a week. Johnny's not the type to have any frequent old haunts, but there are some places that carry history with him, history he shared with both her and D'avin, and they were as good a place to start as any. Now they've reached the bottom of that list, and don't have much to show for it aside from a rising sense of worry and frustration. 

The comm link bleeps and Dutch sighs, calls it up manually without giving Lucy the command. 

“I think I have an idea where they went,” D'avin says, and Dutch remembers that she's not the only one who's missing a brother, nor is she the only one who knows Johnny inside out. 

“Talk,” Dutch demands, doesn't care about the impatience that lines her tone. 

And D'avin, bless his heart, doesn't miss a beat, doesn't huff or get angry or snaps back at her. “We checked the places we would be looking for Johnny. We didn't check any of the places we'd have been looking for Pawter.” 

 

***

 

D'avin hangs back when Dutch ducks underneath the tarp of the bar tent, meets her questioning gaze with a smile and slowly shakes his head. “You go. He hasn't listened to anything I told him since he was roundabout five. Besides, I have company out here.” 

Said company rolls her eyes, but hasn't been anything but helpful since they arrived. Dutch figures she might owe Clara a thank you; later, after they've successfully collected their missing limb and once she's able to swallow around the biting jealousy over the fact that Johnny chose Clara over her. For now, she nods at both of them in silent gratitude and steps inside. 

The tarp falls shut behind her and she catches herself sneaking, every step measured and designed to keep her hidden. She forces herself to relax instead, make her footsteps heavy and audible. This isn't a job. She's not here to capture anyone. 

“I thought it'd take you longer,” Johnny says before he's even turned. His back heaves with a deep breath, and then he does swivel around on his rickety bar stool. He doesn't look angry or surprised. He looks tired and worn and utterly defeated. 

Dutch cocks her head and shrugs. “Finding people who don't want to be found is kind of my job, you know.” 

A grin spreads on his face, but there's no joy or humor in it. “Maybe I should have considered that.” 

She sits on the stool next to him, frowns at how much it wobbles under her weight. Everything about this place is old or broken, mismatched and discarded just like the people that frequent it. Dutch tries to imagine a young Pawter among the weary patrons, recently disowned and jittering with the need for her next shot, and tears prick at her eyelids. She knows Johnny's had the same thought, that he's clinging to it, to the renewed heartache it would cause. That he'd feel like he'd deserve that, both for failing to save her and for allowing himself to take revenge. 

In another life, Johnny would have made a fine scarback. 

“I think you should come home,” she says, and it's unexpectedly hard to keep her hands to herself, wait him out, resist the urge to touch and hug and comfort. The same way they always do, the same way he would for her. But this isn't the right time. This is different. 

Johnny opens his mouth, then shuts it again, looks away and pinches the bridge of his nose. “What I did – “

“Isn't worse than anything me or D'avin have on our record,” Dutch interrupts him. “No one needs to know, and if they find out, we'll deal with that _together_.” 

That someone might find out is likely; he killed a member of the Nine. She meets his eyes, hopes she can convey that the offer she's making surpasses _we'll be fugitives from the whole Quad with you if that's what it takes_ and extends into _if you need me to shoot down anyone else, just tell me where to point the gun_. She really rather hopes he wouldn't take her up on the latter, but it's on the menu all the same. 

“Well,” he says after endless moments of silence, “it's not like I could run from you for long, anyway, that much is obvious.” 

A few coins meet the counter with a clang, and he pushes off his stool. There's nothing to cloud his gaze, and his steps are sure and straightforward when he marches past her to the tent flap. Dutch isn't surprised; that would dilute and numb his pain, and everything about this trip down someone else's memory lane is designed to make that worse, not easier. 

But finding a way to take that weight off his shoulders, soothe it and help him heal, is for later. For now, she'll content herself with bringing him home.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr](http://lostemotion.tumblr.com).


End file.
